Dessert
by Arni
Summary: Felicity thinks about Oliver, and would like to do a lot more, but will she find the nerve? Oliver is drawn to the nerd-chic geek, but is she just another notch on his bed post? Let's have fun finding out. Constructive criticism much appreciated.
1. Never Met a Girl Like You Before

Felicity _burned_ for him.

The very first time she met him his casual sex appeal fried her brain. He was just so pretty she couldn't help babbling. But it was more than his rough charm. She could feel he was hiding something and that intrigued her. So of course she watched him more closely, analyzed his words, his actions, his everything.

He was smart. Most people couldn't see it, even his own family. They expected him to be fundamentally the same person who boarded the Queen's Gambit. Felicity never met that Oliver and based on what she saw and heard, that was probably a good thing. But the new Oliver, _her_ Oliver, yes, she did like _him_. He had an answer for everything, even if they were lies.

Of course she didn't let on that she knew he was playing her. It was a lot of fun letting him try and be deceptive.

Paying such close attention forced her to notice things she shouldn't about her boss. The warmth of his body as he leaned close to her. The luxurious texture of his ever-so-finely tailored suits. And her greatest weakness, his scent. Sometimes he wore cologne, smelling sharp, debonair and utterly unimpeachable. Sometimes simple deodorant, neutralizing the air around him and leaving a blank canvas for her filthy mind to sully.

But that wasn't what Felicity liked most. She liked him best untainted, natural, smelling of clean skin with a faint musk of fresh sweat. The smell was utterly intoxicating to her, dangerously so, quickly leaving her with nothing but lusty, wicked thoughts cavorting in her head. It's almost impossible to recover data or decrypt a hard drive when all she can think of is wrapping her legs around his face, feeling his stubble against her soft inner thighs, his dirty blonde hair under her frantically flexing fingers.

Her work ethic never let her enjoy these thoughts too much though. He was her boss, her devastatingly handsome boss, and she needed to be professional and suffer silently.

It was still a treat when he stepped into her office, laptop in one hand.

"What's wrong with it now?" Her eyes fall back to her monitor, waiting for the inevitable lies.

Oliver shrugged, "I think I've caught something."

"Not surprisingtodo soon after Valentines Day. Didn't your parents teach you to use protection?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, glancing up at his bemused face momentarily before a panicked blush begins burning her cheeks.

"I mean, ah, it's a bad time of year for viruses, computer viruses, because people don't think and they open attachments and infect themselves, their computers." She mortifies herself sometimes, unable to meet his gaze.

He just smiles, offering her the laptop which she seizes like a lifeline.

The hot glow of her skin cools as he doesn't exploit her awkward social fumblings and just watches her across the desk, enjoying the show as she gets to work. She is worth watching, even if it means he has to deliberately trash his own laptop with a particularly nasty piece of malware. Blonde hair, tied back in a tightly professional ponytail. Delicate face, with nerd-chic glasses framing her eyes and a potentially abhorrent shade of lipstick that she manages to wear with aplomb. Long neck leading into a crisp blouse which hugs her slender form. A narrow skirt dropping from her waist to just above her knees, leaving smooth skin exposed all the way down to her heels.

But most of all, it was her personality that made her so fun to observe. As Felicity booted and ran diagnostics on the laptop she was constantly murmuring to herself, eyes darting across the screen, head cocked to the side. It left Oliver smiling every time he observed her in her own little world. She barely seemed aware of her nervous chatter until she sat back, professional again, gesturing for him to put in his password.

Leaning past her, his arm presses against hers for a long second until she rolls her chair aside, disappointing them both. Fingers flicker over keys before he steps back slightly, hooking a foot behind her calf and pulling her back close to him. Her eyes slide up his tshirt, building her nerve, reaching up a hand to press against his taut tummy, as she spins herself back to face the laptop.

He repositions himself behind her, hands dropping to her shoulders as he watches her work. Fingers used to less delicate movements begin almost imperceptibly squeezing at her tensed muscles and eagerly feeling for her acceptance of his touch.

It's all Felicity can do not to purr. Her quick keystrokes falter as her arousal grows, blooming hot within her.

"Oliver, I... If only my Valentines date was as hands on as you." She pushes to maintain the facade of professionalism, but they both seem content to let it fall.

"Oh," Oliver's voice reverberates, lashes of curiosity with traces of jealousy lacing his words, "anyone I would know?"

"Probably," she grumbles sardonically, "you can get ice cream in most stores."

His voice betrays actual surprise, "You didn't have a date for Valentines Day?"

Her head shakes from side to side, "I got the smarts, my sister got the looks."

The massage of her shoulders pauses, causing her heart to skip a beat, before it breaks as his hands slip off and forwards, down her arms to brush her off the laptop. She admires his exposed flesh as he fingers the touchpad easily, pulling up the webcam and turning it on, the screen suddenly illuminating their situation.

His face is to the right and just behind hers, arms languidly stretched down to the laptop, enveloping her in his power.

Her cheeks are flushed, each breath deeper than the last, her hands resting just out of shot in her lap.

She watches as Oliver's head turns slightly towards her ear, scruffy stubble teasing her skin, voice low and imposing.

"Can you see yourself?" the question is rhetorical, but the pregnant pause leaves her nodding anyway.

"I cannot think of how any woman, anywhere, could be more attractive than you are."

Her small hands squeeze into tight fists, eyes wide as saucers, staring at his face in high def, not daring to even breathe. Her need wells up, dark and feral as a deep, almost-orgasmic moan coils within, her conscious mind managing to quell most of it.

A soft keening betrays her, "we shouldn't..." She hates herself for whimpering it, especially as it sounds completely insincere.

"Felicity..." His tone says it all. Stop lying. His eyes flick up, hooded and dark, reminding her of someone half-remembered who isn't important right now.

"Felicity, come out with me. You deserve a better Valentines than ice cream." His hands drop from the laptop, trailing over her skin and skirt, until they can tangle with her fingers.

Acerbic even when melting, she husks, "I like ice cream."

"Well that's dessert sorted."


	2. Swagger

Oliver's bowstring whistles in the howling wind of Starling City as he tries to focus on the tiny speck below that is his next mark. Thomas Marshall, a corporate lawyer who is just a little too good at his job. No matter what the crime, Marshall makes sure they never do the time. Oliver wasn't particularly interested in Marshall until Tommy pointed out how difficult renewing the liquor license for the club would be if Marshall wins his next case. Scaring one lawyer hardly seems worth the effort, but anything that threatens his cover is a potential issue.

At least it will be easy, Oliver thinks, leaning forwards and tipping from his tenth floor perch. His toes dig into the stone with just enough force to flip him over before they touch the next rooftop again, two stories lower. Unleashing a burst of power, Oliver bounces and is off running, feet taking him around air conditioner vents, across the small gap between buildings, through a half-constructed window frame and into a hallway. A makeshift elevator has been set up to service the construction workers, but to the Green Arrow it is just another way to get where he is going, fast. Gloves snag the metal cable as Oliver plummets downwards. An easy shrug sideways bounces him off the far wall of the elevator shaft and through the gaping entrance to the fourth floor.

His mind frantically flashes images of the city, trying to map the most efficient route. He needs to keep heading west, office building next door, only three stories, perfect! Thankfully, no glass in the windows yet, a lazy vault has his feet drumming on scaffolding, then blissful silence as he takes flight. Landing is never as graceful, scrunching down on the stone chip roof. He slows, quieting his steps then leaping up onto the top of the stairwell access hutch that descends down into the depths of nine-to-five hell. His entire body strains to spot the wayward lawyer, seconds lasting hours until finally a figure slips around the corner, walking briskly away. Despite his seven floor descent, Oliver was a good thirty seconds faster.

An arrow is notched almost before he realizes a voice is speaking to him from somewhere near his feet.

"Hey pal, you gonna be up there all night?"

Oliver looks down, hood dipping lower, into the leathery face of a night warden. He is at least in his sixties, gaunt, with thick stubble roughening his face and a cigarette, overburdened with ash, hanging from his hand, which is frozen just shy of two cracked lips.

The old-timer looks apologetically at him, "'cause if I finish my cigarette and you're still there, I'll probably have to do something about it, y'know? No offense or nothin'." There is no menace in the words, only weariness.

Feeling disgusted by his lack of perception, Oliver forces himself to nod and growl, "Smoking is bad for you. You should think about quitting."

Before the old man can respond to his lackluster quip, the Green Arrow drops away into the city streets.

* * *

What a waste of time. Surprised by someone who should be drawing a pension and Marshall managed to slip away whilst he was distracted as well. It wouldn't have been too hard to track him down, but Oliver knew he wasn't on his game. Something dark and unfriendly in the back of his head was telling him that he should be cautious. So he called it a night, crawled back across the city to his lair and prepared to go home.

Wiping away his mask, he stares at his own reflection as Diggle lectures him.

"What if it was the Dark Archer, Oliver? You'd be dead. You've got to get your head in the game, or someone is going to take you out of it. Permanently!"

Dark eyes flash in response to the dark words, "Alright Diggle, I get the point."

The nominal bodyguard presses thumb and forefinger to his eyes, trying to rub the tiredness away before returning his gaze to the scarred young man before him.

"I'm going home. You need to sort this out. Talk to her. Quit using your wounds as an excuse."

Oliver scowls at Diggle's retreating back, anger lashing through him. Why did his mother have to find someone so perceptive to be his babysitter?

Dressing, his fingers brush over a scar on his chest. Even the memory of the day he earned that scar hurts. His erstwhile friend taught him several lessons that day. But the most important was that a little humility could have saved him a lot of hurt.

Snatching up his phone, he thumbs open the Queen Consolidated directory and pulls up the entry for 'Smoak, Felicity'. Two seconds later he's heading towards the door.

* * *

A phone with voice recognition and a car with built-in GPS made late night junk food runs disgracefully easy. Consequently, it wasn't until he was on his way to Felicity's apartment that he has a chance to clue her in on his little plan.

"Call Felicity," he authoritatively commands his phone. After a moment to collect its thoughts the sound of the road noise dims away and the phone begins to ring. A few seconds later the ringing was replaced by a plaintive wail, some clattering and a muffled thud. This is followed, seconds later by the dull, itchy roar of a microphone being abused and finally a talkative Felicity.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I had the phone beside me on the couch and it gave me a fright and I knocked it under the coffee table. Who is this?"

He considers taking the wine back and buying some sedatives instead, but decides against it, "It's Oliver. Are you busy at the moment?"

There is a pause, then a slightly slower response in a different key, "No, I mean not really, I'm just watching TV. Why?"

"Well, I'll be at your apartment in about ten minutes. See you soon!"

He can already hear her protestations beginning as he thumbs the end call button. Of course, if it was actually a problem he would leave. His past indiscretions taught him many things in the time spent contemplating them under Yao Fei's tutelage. Some he wasn't proud of. Many he was ashamed by.

But at the same time, he needs to see her. Things that day had gotten a touch out of hand, for both of them. The feeling of being that intimate with someone who cared was easy to miss though. Not since Helena, if that even counted. But can he even be intimate if he is hiding the biggest part of himself? It feels like some kind of betrayal.

Silently he ponders, until a voice speaks coolly from all around him.

"You have reached your destination."

Thumbing the power, he emerges into the night air once more. Her apartment is on the top floor of a well-groomed apartment block, but having a penthouse in Oldtown doesn't really mean much.

The intercom responds to his touch almost instantly, beeping its acquiescence. No elevator, but four flights of stairs aren't very taxing. Oldtown's low buildings and early twentieth century sensibilities made it a perfect playground for the Green Arrow. So if a quick escape on foot is required, at least the trip will be enjoyable.

A small bronze plate with 303 embossed on it screwed to a dark green door, stashed on a tiny landing is all that awaits him on the fourth floor. He notes the peephole and runs his fingertips down the door, before rapping sharply. It's here that she leaves him hanging, until he starts to wonder if she is even home. A faint scraping of metal on metal through the door brings him to attention.

The door slips open. Felicity stands, a mess of blonde hair, intelligence and irritation in sweatpants.

She cocks her head, frowning at him, "What do you want, Oliver?"

Extending both arms, he holds a gift bag out between them, "I owe you an apology. Please let me say sorry."

He tilts the bag in her direction, but it elicits only a narrowing of her eyes and the raise of an eyebrow.

"You can't buy me."

Their eyes joust for a moment, soft sky blue versus sharp ice. He drops his gaze first and bends down, humbling himself as he places the bag on the carpet just inside her door. Standing, he turns and begins descending the stairs, reaching the second floor before his phone buzzes.

"Oliver, you can't give me a four and a half thousand dollar bottle of wine." The hard edge is missing from her voice, which makes him smile.

"I said I would."

"Yes, for helping you. Not as an apology for disappearing on me."

"It is for helping me. I only brought it tonight because I was hoping you would share."

She snorts softly, but he hears the smile on her lips, "You could buy a case with the spare change down the back of your couch. Why don't you go do that?"

"Because I was hoping **you** would share."

There is a pause.

"Oliver, why didn't you call? It's been a week."

Just thinking about lying to her makes him uncomfortable, "I felt I might have been a bit forward."

"So what, you thought not calling me would help?" she snorts again, but her voice retains its bemused lilt.

He deadpans, "Contrary to poplar belief, I'm not actually very good with women."

A laugh, "Right." The line goes dead.

She hung up on him! He takes the stairs two at a time, finding her leaning in the doorway, arms folded as she smiles radiantly at him, a smile he cannot help but return. Nearing her he slows, but Felicity has other ideas, stepping barefoot against him, arms reaching up and drawing him close, head tilted up to kiss him.

Eyes close automatically as he leans in but he doesn't meet her lips.

His eyes open to a cheeky grin, close enough to feel her breath against his skin as she speaks, "You didn't seem to find that too forward."

Oliver sighs and grins back, "No, though now I do feel like I'm missing out."

Felicity bites her lip, eyes flickering down to look at his, hands running down his sides then quickly slipping away and back into the safety of her apartment.

She peers out the door at him, "Well, are you going to come in? I've got wine **and** ice cream." Sparkling eyes dance with his.

Laughing, he disappears into her apartment and the green door closes behind them.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I failed to mention in the first chapter, this story will be taking a few liberties. Felicity doesn't know the identity of the Green Arrow as I want to play with that a bit (I am exceedingly frustrated that everyone and their mother knows Oliver's secret in the show).

To slake the inklust in some of the reviews, I plan to update about once a week. I don't update faster because I'm pretty damn slow when it comes to writing.


	3. Alive Behind the Green Door

The apartment matches its owner perfectly. The front door opens into a small hallway containing an absolutely average assortment of coats and shoes. Entering the open plan living area reveals a dinner table pushed against the wall farthest from the kitchen. Given the books, take-out menus and junk mail piled up on it, dinner parties seem unlikely to be a part of Felicity's life. The bright red couch and coffee table appear more popular, a plate discarded on the table beside the television remote and an empty glass tumbler. The television is definitely the focal point of the room, a huge flat screen surrounded by Blu-ray cases, game consoles and gadgets.

Oliver acknowledges none of this as his eyes track Felicity's every move. Grey sweatpants and a snug white singlet conceal little of her beauty and none of her grace. She was hugging him a moment ago. Now, watching her stretch up on tiptoes to reach two wine glasses, the movement accentuating every muscle in her lithe body, he feels an urge to do a lot more than hug the teasing blonde.

"Can I help?"

She glances over at him, "Sure. Come round here and get down on all fours."

Oliver's eyes grow large, grinning before laughter bursts forth, eliciting a puzzled look then a hot, frustrated blush as realisation dawns.

"To stand on your back so I can reach easier! Oliver!" Her perturbations abate as he moves around the kitchen island and reaches up, easily hooking two glasses and placing them carefully on the wooden island. He looks down at her, feeling almost giddy.

Her words are soft and were they uttered by anyone else he would think them timid.

"You don't mind when I say stupid things, do you?"

Reaching out, his fingers touch hers, "No."

Felicity smiles, "You're sweet, Oliver Queen." Stepping closer she hip-checks him gently out of the way, slipping a drawer open and retrieving a very serious corkscrew. Placing it on the counter she eases the wine carefully from the bag, as though the thick paper might slice the bottle apart if handled ineptly. This is placed reverentially on the sacrificial altar before Oliver, in reality a thick chopping block.

"You do it. I'm nervous." She quickly transfers the ice-cream from the bag to the freezer before turning back to watch. Eyes flick between his face, hands and the bottle. The blade on the corkscrew slices effortlessly through foil and with a careful twist it comes away with ease.

Oliver positions the corkscrew, feeling Felicity close to his side. Standing it, he presses in, the tip piercing through the cork as he begins to drill down towards the rich Bordeaux. She squeezes his forearm through his shirt sleeve, marvelling at the sheer decadence. The cork tells him it's time, easing his passage, so he stops, carefully pulling halfway before ratcheting the cork up until less than half an inch remains in the bottle. Holding the corkscrew and bottle in one hand, Oliver pulls Felicity between the island and himself, taking her left hand and replacing his with it.

"Slowly twist the cork, keeping it mostly vertical and ease your hand upwards. You want to let the air in slowly, not all at once."

He steadies the bottle with his left hand just below hers, while his right arm wraps around her, draping across her tummy and feeling her heat through the thin material of the singlet.

It's all she can do to keep hold of the bottle, let alone focus on de-corking the wine. His warmth covers her back, the island trapping her exactly where she wants to be. She indulges just a little, pushing up on tiptoes and rolling her hips ever so slowly, biting her lip as she feels him grind against her ass equally subtly. The cork gives way in her fingers, slipping out with a soft intake of air.

Extracting the bottle from her fingers, Oliver cautiously decants it into both glasses, his arms still circling Felicity.

"We'll need to let that sit for a few hours." Arms fall to gentle cradle her, criss-crossing her tummy as she leans back.

"Oliver," her voice is quiet again, "I really like this, but... I'm scared of you."

That wasn't what was supposed to come next, "What do you mean?"

"How am I supposed to trust you? Every time you see me at work you lie to me. Your father is dead, Walter is missing and your bodyguard isn't even here. Within hours of you coming back to the city you were kidnapped," how did she know that, they kept it out of the news!

She pushes him back a little, turning in his arms and pressing close, her face in against his neck.

"And despite all that, I **do** trust you and don't want to be anywhere else but right here. That's crazy. I feel like I'm going crazy."

He rubs a hand against her back, squeezing her body affectionately, before stating sombrely, "Wine helps."

She stiffens slightly in his arms, eyes creeping upwards to look at him. When she catches the serious look on his face, her entire form begins to vibrate until she explodes in melodious peals of laughter. It feels so natural, so perfectly normal.

As she wears herself out against his chest, Oliver easily nudges her head back, pressing down and planting a painfully slow kiss on her lips. Felicity's eyes flicker and close, pushing back against him, desperately savouring the taste and texture of the man she daydreams about. Her skin reddens, hot with arousal as his stubble tickles her. His hand runs up her neck, into wild hair, wanting to touch everything. Suction drags her bottom lip between his as they try, quite unsuccessfully, to part. A hand tentatively brushes his ass and he escalates the situation, fingers gripping and lifting her as his hips push between her legs, forcing her backwards until she is sitting on the edge of the island.

Felicity pulls back, blinking in surprise and breaking the lip lock.

"Stop, Oliver."

Her hands paw at his chest needily as they catch their breath, leaning in so her forehead touches his gently, eyelids relaxing back down to hide him from her.

"Oh wow, Oliver," hands slipping around him so she can pull herself closer, "You really know how to..."

As her voice trails off, she stares at him hungrily, cheeks burning with endless heat.

"What are we doing? Does this count as sleeping with my boss? Is this what all the sexual harassment seminars were warning me about?"

He laughs, grinning broadly and rubbing her sides through her singlet, causing it to ride up and expose a strip of tense tummy.

"We're having fun, what we're going to do in a few minutes will count as sleeping with your boss and yes, this is exactly what the sexual harassment seminars were about."

Felicity moans his name under her breath, leaning back to press against him, hips grinding, bottom lip between her teeth again.

Her voice is a silky whisper, "Who says we're going to sleep together?"

Fingers grip her to him as he grinds back, pressing his hardness against her and leaving no doubt as to both their desires. Her back arches, body shuddering as she clings to him.

"God Ollie!" She slumps down against his shoulder, gulping breaths of air, his scent everywhere on her. It feels so good she can feel herself tearing up, but crying on him now would make her look really crazy, so she blinks the tears away.

Meanwhile Oliver's hands are stroking over her back, nose nuzzling into her hair to plant a tiny kiss on a pierced and studded ear.

"Let's slow down a bit." It's both the best and the worst idea she's heard all night, so she just nods.

Felicity creeps off the counter, half-standing, half-leaning, half-dressed she realizes, when she sees notices her wayward singlet. She continues to lean against Oliver, mostly for convenience.

"That was kind of intense."

He nods, stepping back and swaying on the balls of his feet.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way... but do you have any other wine?"


	4. Between a Man and a Woman

Felicity's taste in wine was good and for someone who has to budget to pay her rent, she'd made some nice investments. A Saint Clair Pinot Noir, ruby red and fruity, suited the mood. She decides to skip the theatrics, losing the cork and prodding Oliver to fetch the glasses.

Thinking back to the excellent view he enjoyed earlier, he is tempted to decline, but thinks the better of it. Instead, he does as he is told and trails after Felicity, placing the glasses on the coffee table and seating himself delicately at one end of the oversized couch, observing with interest as she pours two large drinks.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Felicity Smoak?" Her eyes roll, as intended, but she ignores the bait, handing a glass to him and retreating back to the other end of the couch, warming her glass between small hands.

"What are we doing, Oliver? Other than drinking wine I mean. You're going to leave here and then what?"

He takes a sip, enjoying the new flavour, lighter than he would have chosen but very drinkable. He also can't help but wonder as to the cause of her lack of confidence.

"Then we do it again. Maybe on a weekend next time. And maybe with a little more communication on my part." He smiles apologetically.

She smiles back, reassured, "Ok, but you need to give me your phone number."

He nods, considering the finish on his wine before speaking, "I can meet those terms, on the condition that you come over here."

"Only if you actually promise to call me this time, and not five minutes before you show up either." Having said her piece, she slithers over, settling in against Oliver's side. His arm squeezes her closer, tighter, fingers insinuating themselves under her singlet again.

A shiver dances up Felicity's spine, "That feels good. I like you touching me. I like all of this." She glances up at him, blushing softly as she catches his eye and the fingers start rubbing upwards. She gulps a mouthful of the wine she would otherwise savour, desperate to avoid saying anything stupid. Then she notices what his fingers are doing.

Each movement is carefully choreographed, not just to tease her, but to tell her... She lets him repeat the sequence several times, feeling the pauses until she is certain. Then she leans forwards, snatching up her phone and adding the number to her contacts. Showing it to him earns her a nod, a smile and a kiss, his lips tart with wine. She purrs, hand dropping to rest on his thigh, squeezing at him as she takes another gulp, the mix of alcohol and arousal leaving her fizzing.

"Felicity..." His fingers push her singlet higher, brushing over ribs as he tries not to lose control. Moving to take a sip of wine proves useless, his glass is drained, when did that happen? When did she get so warm? When did he get so completely turned on by this situation?

He discards his glass just in time, feeling her fingers clasping at him through his slacks. His whole body shivers in reaction to her touch, sucking in air and staring at her.

She smiles impishly, not looking at him, perfectly content to touch and be touched, "Oliver."

The nonchalance flicks some switch inside him. She is so different to every woman he's been with before, and he loves it. His hand darts upwards, capturing her right breast and tightening his grasp on her.

His fingers ease off slightly as he speaks, voice sounding like chiselled rock, "I want you."

It's exactly the excuse she wants to hear. Spinning around quickly, she slides into Oliver's lap, sitting right on his erection, feeling it separated from her by mere scraps of stretchy fabric.

Their lips clash, mouths open, his tongue pushing aggressively at hers as her fists grip his shirt. When both hands squeeze her ass she can't help curling her hips against him, grinding herself onto his cock.

She breaks the kiss moaning and pressing her forehead against his. The air between them is hot, her breathing heavy as her hips roll onto that wonderful hard-on.

"Ollie," her voice flutters every time she rubs herself just right, "I need you now." It is a fact, stated as she slips backwards off his knees, fingers grabbing at his belt and undoing it. She settles between his knees as she jerks his fly down, admiring him through strained boxers before freeing him into the loving confines of her mouth.

Oliver tosses his head back with a groan as her tongue darts down him, feathery flickers causing muscles all over him to shiver and twitch. He paws at her hair lovingly, hips pushing him slightly deeper into her mouth.

She backs off, looking up at him and waggling a finger, naughty Oliver. That she does this with his tip still between her lips drives him almost insane. Then she bobs down, enjoying the fulfilment of months of fantasizing about Oliver Queen's cock. Sitting at work, she would often catch herself sucking on the end of her pen, wondering what he would be like. She'd always assumed he would be big, and was glad that she was right, one hand gently caressing and stroking him as she works on what she can get in her mouth. The other hand is busily engaged between her own legs, desperately rubbing her clit as she enjoys herself.

Oliver has little to do other than moan and touch her hair, but given her mouth is full of his hardness, lips stretched as she gazes up at him with glazed eyes, he doesn't think complaining would be appropriate. Especially as he feels himself losing control.

"Felicity!" The words are barely out of his mouth, when he feels cool air around his cock, making him groan.

"Ollie, come in my mouth! Come for me!" Her eyes burn with need and as she takes him in again he cannot help but do what she says, arching hard as his seed jets into her mouth. Felicity shudders, tongue lapping at him aggressively, waiting until he is looking into her eyes before swallowing his spend, even as she continues to adore his cock.

Her fingers slip from her wetness, pushing sweatpants and cute panties down as she kneels forwards, needing more of him. Oliver's eyes open as he slips from between her lips, getting wide as he sees her undressing rapidly, leaving her singlet on as she returns to kneeling over him. Her fist squeezes him as she presses him in, hips wiggling, trapping him momentarily before letting go and gasping as her ass falls into his lap, his cock shooting deep within her.

His arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against him and growling in her ear, forcibly restraining her for a moment as she writhes in his lap. Hands slide down her back, eager to feel her naked butt, only she is very distracting, starting to bounce slowly on him.

"Fuck Ollie, fuck me." She has a filthy mouth when she's horny, which around him seems to be growing more frequent, but he kisses her anyway. Stubble scratching her face and hands squeezing her ass, it's heaven. Even as her thighs burn, leaning heavily against his shoulders, she feels him moving harder against her. Felicity surrenders to the sensations, hunching autonomically against him, sweat trickling down her spine and soaking the thin singlet, her last scrap of modesty.

Oliver's scruff on her throat makes her shudder and keen hard, the unexpected roughness starting a chain reaction within her. Limbs spasm, his arms holding her close as she squeaks loudly, gasping and vibrating against him urgently his name a mantra on the tip of her tongue. As she loses control his hands keep her ass rising and falling in his lap, each time he impales her driving the air from her lungs in groaning exertions.

When with strained voice he whispers her name, she loses it. Her body freezes up, every muscle tight against him, face a rictus mask as she tries not to wail as she comes with him for the first time. Oliver's hands slide up her back, rubbing and caressing her, feeling her slowly melting atop him as she regains control of her body. Breath scores a line of heat down the side of his neck as she struggles to get enough air to stay conscious, pawing at him and almost dreading what comes next as he begins to move within her.

Her eyes watch what she can of him, jaw clenching tightly with each thrust, sweat running through his hair, behind his ear and down his neck. Felicity nuzzles against his neck, hips starting to twist around him as he thrusts up. Her lips latch onto his earlobe, sucking and letting her tongue dance against his skin. One of his hands releases her for a moment to swat at her ass, the pain flowering red on her skin. She returns the favour, letting her teeth dig into his neck, moaning as he tenses and comes hard into her, her purr cocooning him in bliss as his cock throbs. She kisses at his neck affectionately as she holds him, utterly satisfied.

It feels too quick. They're still joined together, but he doesn't want to let her move, despite the ache permeating his body. His wounds haunt him, especially at moments like this. Reminding him of the burden he bears.

But for now, Oliver contents himself in kissing Felicity.

"Do you feel sexually harassed yet?"

She laughs and pats him on the chest, "Mmmh, not yet. You can try again in a minute."

* * *

**Author's Note:** What do all y'all think? Characterisation has been a big issue for me throughout this entire thing, due to the minimal screen-time our beloved Felicity receives (and even less with Oliver). Of course, I don't think we'll see this in the show any time soon, but I'd be interested to hear peoples thoughts as to how true things are. Feel free to PM me if you don't wish to drop bombs via review, I'll appreciate the critique, promise :)


End file.
